Wires and Waves
by forthecoast
Summary: Carter and Abby, mid-S11. They're still dancing.
1. Hear Me Out

Title: Wires and Waves  
Author: Ella  
Rating: PG-13  
Spoilers: We'll say "Skin" is the last episode that pertains; the rest of this is relatively spoiled speculation - but it kind of veers from the spoilers we've got for the remaining part of the season.  
Disclaimer: My mother never trusted me with sharp playthings, either.  
Summary: They're still dancing.

Notes: There's a saga behind this story, there is ;) It has vaguely to do with a monkey, several unfortunate incidents involving magnetic poetry, and general procrastination at 3:00 AM. Basically, I was sitting in Calculus class one day, not paying attention (as per usual), and I started formulating scenarios based on the premise that NW could be essentially absent for all of S12. Then it sort of took on a life of its own, and this is what I turned out with ...

My particular story of Carter, Abby, and the dance they do is a tribute to a few very special people in my life. I would name each one of you individually, but that might take awhile and you already know who you are. I feel privileged to know you girls; you make fandom worthwhile. And, of course, my fabulous beta Kessa without whom I would never actually get anything written.

-

Chapter One: "Hear Me Out"

-

_I'm a slow motion accident __  
Lost in coffee rings and fingerprints  
I don't wanna feel anything  
But I do - and it all comes back to you_

-

_i.  
__March 2006_

-

John Carter leans his whole weight against the railing, looking out at the city lights reflected in the water passing below him. He resists the urge to check his watch, shivering more from nerves than exposure to the bitter evening air.

He's always been impatient - especially when it comes to her.

He's not sure what to expect, whether he should expect anything at all. He has this image of her he's kept close in the forefront of his mind for the past ten months, the memory of their last conversation still vivid upon recollection. It occupies his subconscious violently, until it can no longer be contained; it seeps through to his conscious without want of warning or explanation.

That's how he chooses to remember her, the way she looked the night he told her he was leaving. The split second when he swears a light flickered somewhere in her eyes. She told him that she understood. Even when she couldn't find the words.

And somehow, it was enough.

Lost somewhere between nostalgia and exhaustion, he jolts back to reality only when the memory blurs to the indistinct colors of the river. In the subsequent lack of worthy distractions, temptation wins out too quickly. He sighs, watching the second hand tick methodically onward.

Maybe it's too late.

Maybe she isn't coming.

-

The automatic doors of the emergency room slide open and shut around her petite frame as Abby Lockhart steps out into the ambulance bay.

She's late, she realizes. Of course she's late. Sometime long ago, in the inexact period before child became caregiver, definitions of "prompt" fell on deaf ears; her chronological aptitude has since been lacking.

She's always been punctual, but punctual according to her means.

Confronted with the choice, she opts for the longer route to the river. It's neither avoidance nor apathy. At one point in time he would have argued both, but in truth, it was the lack of apathy that assumes responsibility for the avoidance.

And that is why today is different.

She moves purposefully, compensation for lost time evident in every step. Yet still, she won't rush. Past haste allowed her to slip away, unnoticed until she was already long gone.

She continues along the sidewalk, making her way through the remaining small patches of snow and ice - a subtle reminder of the winter that stubbornly refuses to let go.

It's almost eerily silent. She passes no one as she moves onward, notices nothing akin to motion in the path ahead. At just shy of 8:20 pm, the city appears to be shut down for the night. She's almost surprised to see his figure in her peripheral vision, surprised by her own progress.

There's a picture she keeps tucked away in a drawer, one Susan snapped on a coffee break well over two years ago. They're standing much like he is now, bodies propped against the steel railing. Together. Happy?

And that is why today is different.

Still she keeps the photograph close by, refuses to let the memory fade into obscurity. A three by five keepsake of another time. The frame came crashing to the ground in some freak accident. Hit the floor of her living room before she knew what happened. She knows it should have shattered, broken by the force of the fall.

Instead, the frame is a little rough around the edges. A few pieces are missing, but the photograph remains intact. As alive today as the moment that is forever etched in her memory.

She's close now, approaching quickly; anticipation verges on sensory overload. It's been almost a year since she's seen him, but it feels like longer. And she's well aware of this as she progresses toward his figure.

Fifteen feet separate the two when he finally hears her footsteps. They announce her arrival quietly; he's the only one allowed to know her proximity.

He turns to face her straight on. Relief evident in his eyes, his face lights up in greeting. His words are barely audible, but she hears them without difficulty.

"Abby Lockhart makes an appearance."

And _that_ is why today is different.

-

_ii._

-

"I was afraid you weren't coming."

His admission comes quickly. He turns his head away, won't meet her eyes to risk the embarrassment. He's still the same man he always was, and that knowledge reassures her in some small way.

She, too, wants him to feel comfortable in her presence.

"And miss this party? Are you kidding me"

He doesn't skip a beat.

"You always were one for the sad and dark."

She laughs and meets his eyes.

Success.

She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, bringing her body forward to rest next to his. He breathes deeply, unsure of what to say or how to say it. If this were any other night with any other woman, it might be awkward. Despite this fact, the moment feels oddly calm and almost intimate.

"How long have you been back" Her voice is steady in a way that her mind is not.

"Oh, all of five hours now."

"And you're ..."

"... back for good. Yeah, I am."

She lets out a breath that she didn't know she had been holding, rubbing her arms protectively against her body. "It's been forever since the last time we were here" she comments. She regrets this a second later, though. She let her guard down and now she is vulnerable.

Carter feels her muscles tense beside him, but he's not going to let her go easily this time. "I've missed you, too." And like something of long-forgotten reality, she relaxes once again.

"Carter ..."

"How are you, Abby" At this she almost laughs. "No, really. How are you"

"How am I? ... That can't possibly be why you asked me to meet you here."

He might be surprised at her words, but she wouldn't know. "It is. I just thought - well, I really did miss you this year; I've missed out on everything. And maybe the past means nothing, but if we're still friends ..." He almost doesn't complete the question for fear of a negative answer, but curiosity compels him. "Unless, of course, you don't ..."

"I do."

"Good. I do, too."

She wonders what to tell Carter about the past year, briefly acknowledging the notion that perhaps his inquiry spans a period of time longer than his recent months' venture. She dismisses this possibility without much consideration, but her train of thoughts continues along this path in spite of her supposed dismissal. She racks her brain for stories that could illustrate the highs and lows of their many months apart, and though dozens come to mind, none seem quite appropriate for the occasion.

Instead, she quips that things are going well when she gets a full night's sleep.

It's just as he opens his mouth to reply that his cell phone breaks their quiet conversation. He retrieves the phone from his front jacket pocket to check the caller ID. He heaves a deep sigh and apologizes verbally for the interruption before answering his mother's call.

Abby watches his body language throughout the conversation, combining her aptitude for psychology with her innate ability to read Carter's facial expressions. Granted, it didn't take a rocket scientist to determine that John and Eleanor Carter remain somewhat at odds with each other. The thumb and index finger of his left hand massage his temples during his periods of silence; when he speaks, his voice is wrought with frustration. In these moments, he seems older and vulnerable. She wants, as always, to ease his pain however she can. Although she doubts the comfort her presence may bring, she cautiously extends her arm until it is resting on his shoulder. When he does not back away from her touch, she finds herself wondering if Kem used to console him in a similar manner and if that is why he does not back away.

She often finds herself wondering about Kem. Every time Carter looks to her as a friend, she considers herself runner up, a would-have-been good substitute for something he loved so dearly and desperately that he was willing to sacrifice everything for.

If she had, at that moment, been as focused on his body language as she was on suppressing the twinge of jealousy that her self-doubts prompt, she might have noticed his suddenly calmer, more collected appearance.

And she might have known she no longer had anything to be jealous of. For there are only two women on John Carter's mind at that moment, and for him there would never be any comparison between Eleanor Carter and Abby Lockhart.

-

Throughout the entire cab ride home, Carter's mind buzzes with the freshness of the evening's memories. He wants to remember the sound of her laugh, the way the lights reflecting off the water framed her face, the feeling of her hand resting on his shoulder, soothing him as he argued with his mother. He wants to remember the feeling of her lips as they brushed against his cheek in farewell. And most of all, he just wants to see her again.

Abby captivated him in a way no woman ever had before. When he first noticed her, it was as the nurse turned med student who had captured his attention with her genuine affection for her patients and her self-deprecating honesty. Upon his return from Atlanta, he was surprised to see a familiar face at the required AA meetings; he was more surprised that the familiar face belonged to the woman who was responsible for turning him in to his superiors.

While Dr. Greene and Dr. Weaver were generally supportive, they were, after all, his superiors. Their role as friends was secondary to their jobs in the ER, and this fact was glaringly obvious to Carter. If he wanted the support that he knew he would not find at home, he would have to go elsewhere. It might have been crossing a line, but Abby was the clear choice. She was not completely unlike him; unhappy with the cards she had been dealt and struggling to make sense of her disastrous personal life. While her childhood and marriage left her embittered and cynical, she was the light on an otherwise dark and desperately dreary horizon. Their connection evolved from coworkers to friends to best friends before summer had completely faded into autumn.

From that point forward, she would remain a part of his life wherever he went or whatever he was doing.

For these reasons, it should not come as a surprise that his first thoughts upon arrival in O'Hare were of the petite brunette who continued to confound him even six years after that fateful AA meeting.

Unpredictable she is, a butterfly undergoing constant metamorphosis. He regrets that in his absence he missed watching these changes, although part of him realizes that they are all the more significant because they came from no one but herself. Where the Abby he once knew would have been restrained and guarded this evening, a new prototype came in her place. Still the self-deprecating, sarcastic woman who first caught his attention, though the edge has vanished from her words and new levels of sincerity are present in its place. At times he recalls she had even seemed vulnerable, although he never really takes these thoughts into serious consideration.

The cab jerks to a halt outside the grand palace that had once been home to his beloved Gamma and, in turn, been the closest thing to home he had ever known. Though no outward change is evident to the casual passerby, Carter knows the importance of the transformation that should be nearing completion on the interior. This is his undertaking, the result of over a year's worth of careful planning and research. Excitement builds a spring in his step as he proceeds along the front walk, in spite of the fact that he knows he will have to face his mother when he enters. And even though his parents may have originally disapproved of the plan, Gamma would have been proud.

-

Across town, Abby climbs the stairs to her apartment, key in hand. After all, she remembers affectionately, she would never know who might be lurking, and never once has she risked it since.

Once the apartment door is firmly shut and locked behind her, there is little disruption to the path between front door and bed. Charts and journals are placed on the kitchen table; coat is hung on the closest corresponding chair. Before she answered a cryptic message to meet an old friend at their bench by the river, she worked two shifts to cover while Neela took a personal day.

As she putters around the bathroom, she cannot form a coherent thought for all the intense emotion she is feeling.

And it's only when her head hits the pillow does her mind begin to process the events of the evening: John Carter is back in Chicago.

-

Oh, right. The title for this chapter is taken from the song at the beginning"Hear Me Out" by Frou Frou, and the name of the fic is from the Rilo Kiley song "Wires and Waves" - which will be incorporated later on. Chapter Two is complete and nearly edited, so let me know if there's interest. (And yes, that's my nice way of asking for constructive feedback).


	2. A Murder of One

Title: Wires and Waves  
Author: Ella  
Rating: PG-13  
Spoilers: Post "Skin"; spoiler free should continue with extreme caution. Anything that's aired in the US is fair game.  
Disclaimer: My mother never trusted me with sharp playthings, either.  
Summary: They're still dancing.

Notes: Oiy! I was holding out on posting this until after 11.13 aired, although I think at this point I didn't need to have worried so much. In light of the most recent developments on ER, I think this is going to be more wish-oriented and less show-oriented. I have a loose plan, spanning quite a few chapters, of the story that I envision for Carter and Abby: the telling of their new love interspersed with moments from their past.

Before I forget - because I know I will - the lyrics in this chapter belong to Counting Crows, from the song "A Murder of One." And somewhere in the first two chapters, there's a line I stole from Em, too. I'm not sure where it went, though ;) And I wanted to thank everyone who gave me feedback on the first chapter, especially those who left me more personal reviews; you guys are wonderful.

We pick up right where we left off. So carry on ...

-

Chapter Two: "A Murder of One"

-

_I've been watching you for hours  
__It's been years since we were born  
__We were perfect when we started  
__I've been wondering where we've gone_

-

John Carter inspects the progress made in his absence with the precision and heart that could only be found in a surgeon-turned-ER physician. A few finishing touches and all will be complete: what was once a daunting undertaking is now on the final leg of a year-long relay. With satisfaction, he completes his once-over and concludes that all has gone according to plan for the first time in his thirty-five years. Although his best laid plans generally do not involve his mother waiting on the back patio.

He knows that she's been waiting outside, but he hasn't quite the energy yet to deal with her. John Carter the physician understands that this is escape conditioning, while John Carter the embittered son feels differently. As he steps out onto the patio, the temperature drop goes unnoticed in the tension that radiates from the atmosphere.

"That certainly took a long time, John." That was it: no welcome home, no polite inquiries as to the quality of his trip, no attempt to hide the edge to her voice. His mother, for all of her grandeur, could never manage to foster anything of affection in her son.

"I told you I was busy."

"The airport said your flight got in on time."

"I was busy."

"For six hours"

"I had to see a friend."

"And you couldn't come home first"

"I did. You weren't here." He answers her curtly, his voice reflecting his waning patience.

"Then you should have waited."

"I told Abby to meet me at eight."

"Abby" At this, her face contorts itself knowingly. "You mean that nurse"

"Doctor, mom. She's been a doctor for almost two years now."

"And you had to see her today"

"Something like that, yeah." His body heaves a sigh in response as she half sits, half collapses in one of the posh patio chairs. Mother and son would never see eye to eye. It's a few moments of uncomfortable silence before Eleanor speaks again.

"The house looks ..."

"Leave it, mom. I don't want to do this tonight."

"I was just going to say everything looks great." Off his questioning look, she continues. "You're doing a good thing here, John."

Unable to respond, he simply nods his head in acknowledgement. A peace, of sorts. Exhausted and slightly jet-lagged, he retreats to the house again before their unspoken truce wears off.

-

Abby wakes the next morning to the sound of someone knocking on her front door. She rolls over and checks her alarm clock before quickly securing her robe. She sighs; there are still five minutes before the alarm is due to go off.

When she opens the door, she is still not quite awake. It takes a few seconds to register that the body standing in the hallway belongs to Carter as she squints her eyes to adjust to the light.

Carter almost chuckles to himself as he remembers that Abby is not - and never has been - a morning person.

"Good morning, sunshine." Abby just steps aside to let him in. "A resident still sleeping at almost nine AM isn't getting any work done."

"You woke me up five minutes before my alarm is set to go off. If you've just come here to mock me, you could have at least brought coffee." Touché.

"I tell you what: you go take a quick shower, and I'll have the coffee waiting for you when you're more awake."

She cannot see any point in declining his offer, so she willingly obliges. He catches himself watching her retreating form, but his eyes refuse to be deterred. And only after her robed figure disappears can he force his attention back to the task at hand.

He busies himself with the coffee machine, and his mind wanders to the many previous mornings spent in a similar manner. He would wake up earlier than she, disentangle the mass that was limbs and twisted bed linens - Abby was, after all, an endearingly restless sleeper. When she would finally emerge from the bedroom, she would always wear his bathrobe, a concept he did not understand as it was several sizes too big and the extended sleeves gave her the appearance of an innocent child. But like so many other of her quirks, he learned to appreciate without questioning.

When he hears the puttering from the bathroom slowly die out, he remembers how she used to look in the mornings and, for a fleeting moment, half expects to see her clad in his old robe. As he remarks on her perfect timing - a first for them, if he's not mistaken - he finds himself reflecting that his robe was more becoming, and he forces himself to hold his tongue.

Now is neither the time nor the place, he regrets.

They sit at the kitchen table that he graciously cleared while she was in the shower, and he initiates conversation with an apology for his quick exit the night before. An explanation that is unnecessary, for she knows all too well that there are occasions when family obligations become overwhelming and must be dealt with. She sympathizes openly.

Conversation proceeds accordingly to the topic of his grandmother's house. His excitement for the project radiates off his face. She listens intently as he shares the details of the converting the Carter mansion into a treatment facility for underprivileged pediatric oncology patients. She is reminded of a prepubescent Eric, animated and eager, without a care in the world.

She wants to capture the moment somehow. Freeze it and preserve it under glass for all of posterity. Though no glossy photograph or expensive frame can portray emotions as full and vibrant as these, and for good reason. Photographs are memories, but they have no magical powers, no omnipotent forces that can transport the viewer back to that moment in time. They cannot preserve this moment in John Carter's life any more than they could prevent the emotional downfall of Abby's beloved baby brother.

He is just about to mention the opening banquet and his speech when there comes another person knocking at her front door. This person, however, seems to be extremely intent upon her coming to the door as soon as possible.

"Shit" Abby nearly jumps in surprise, running to get the door before Carter even has the chance to raise an eyebrow suspiciously. He recovers in time to rotate in his chair and allow himself a better view of the mysterious newcomer.

There is mumbled conversation coming from the general direction of the door. He cannot get a good enough look between Abby and the half-open door, discerning only that the stranger is tall and male. More, admittedly, than he wants to know. She appears to be apologizing profusely, and he hears that male voice again. A voice he should remember from somewhere, but he just cannot place ...

And then it hits him: Ray.

Dr. Ray Barnett is the man Abby invites into her apartment while still apologizing for missing their breakfast.

"Well, when you didn't show after ten minutes I tried your cell phone and your pager, and I didn't get a response so ..."

"You were worried! Ladies and gentlemen, Ray Barnett has a heart after all" She smirks at him, and he shakes his head in return. It seems almost an afterthought when she adds"You remember Dr. Carter"

"Of course ... Dr. Carter." He extends his right hand in a would-be friendly greeting, which Carter returns with a similar gesture.

"Dr. Barnett." The gesture is lacking something, however, of its usual pleasantries. Each appears to be marking this territory as his own somehow.

He is aware of how this situation must look to an outside observer: Abby, still in her bathrobe and having missed a breakfast ... meeting, was it? And he, who had been absent from the emergency room for going on eleven months now, suddenly turning up in her apartment on that same morning of the missed meeting. Ray's eyes dart from Carter to Abby back to Carter again, and Carter knows that he is drawing exactly that conclusion.

And while he finds that this does not distress him in the slightest, he fears that it probably does bother Abby.

"I'd better be going anyway." He decides to make his exit now, before any more damage can be done.

"Oh, no. John, you don't have to leave."

"I've already intruded enough for one day. The Foundation calls, I'm sure." He rolls his eyes playfully in an effort to lessen the tense air.

"I'll see you later this week" She inquires in an almost whisper after escorting him to her door.

"You couldn't keep me away." He turns around only two steps into the hallway. "Would it be safe to assume they're still understaffed in the ER"

"Don't go suggesting such things to Susan unless you're prepared to report this afternoon."

"That bad"

"If you call today, you'll be on the schedule by the end of the week."

Twenty seconds later, with the corridor empty and the door shut firmly behind her, she quickly decides that she should put on some clothes before going over charts with Ray Barnett.

-

What remained of that week flew by quickly for both Carter and Abby. For Carter, there were preparations for the upcoming Foundation banquet interspersed with resettlement in the city he had once called home. Having given up his townhouse when he left town the previous spring, he would return to apartment living for the time being. _It's more sensible, _he reminds himself. Though on occasion, he finds himself bitterly adding, _That's all I'll ever need anyway._

For Abby, there were shifts and shifts and ... more shifts. Somewhere along the line, she had been delegated as the unspoken leader among the second year residents. When someone needed to stay late and finish up, she would frequently be the one asked. If there were a number of incoming traumas or a crisis situation, she would be the one the others would look to for guidance. Her professional life as a resident is both complete and fulfilling, which enables her to allow her personal life to take a backseat for prolonged periods of time. So occupied she is with her job that it comes as a surprise when she arrives at work on Friday morning and finds John Carter's name on the schedule.

His shift is nearly over when their paths finally cross, however. Drunk driver versus a line of pedestrians waiting to make purchases from a newsstand a few blocks away keeps the trauma rooms occupied for several hours, and a small army of allergy sufferers does significant damage to the remaining staff. It's only as Dr. Lockhart needs a second opinion on a supposed slip-and-fall that she calls upon Dr. Carter as she passes him in drug lockup. He confirms her suspicions that the patient is drug-seeking and subconsciously attempts to linger. His attempts are thwarted by the efforts of a hopelessly incompetent med student in curtain area one.

She affirms that she will be just fine to handle the case on her own, telling him to "go forth and save the less competent." He leaves her in the knowledge that she is more than capable of treating the next addition to the turkey file.

Both caught in the current of new patients who keep rolling in, neither realize that their shifts have been over for an hour when eight o'clock rolls around. As a matter of fact, it is Dr. Dubenko who first notices this when he gets paged to one of Dr. Lockhart's patients. Carter overhears their snippets of their conversation in passing, including Dubenko's suggestions for some _light _reading material and his assurances that her patient will be safe in his hands. At this, Carter hastens to sign his few remaining patients out to Kovac and catch Abby before she leaves for the night.

But she is gone just moments before he enters the doctor's lounge, exiting through one door as he enters through the other.

-

About a week after his return to work, Carter feels almost as though he never left. The traumas, the patients, the hours upon hours of dealing with the odds and ends of modern society; everything blurs together into an average day, turns into week, turns into month. A never-ending cycle that does not change. The only thing that is different this time is her.

As in intern, she struggled to find her place in the world of physicians. Her volatile career status - jumping from nurse to med student and back again - did not help the transition. Graduation from medical school is an intense change for any student, but in Abby's world its significance was almost inconceivable. In the course of 24 hours, she suddenly found herself expected to be more responsible, more capable than she had been just a days before. All the while, she still had to wrestle with her predispositions as a nurse. It is simply impossible, she found, to act as both nurse and doctor to the same patient. She had to adjust to giving orders and making decisions, to becoming her patients' advocates to the physicians in other departments whom she would call upon for consultations.

And then there was the matter of her abduction.

It happened just as she was beginning to find her place, one terrifying day erased all of her progress. He remembers that day back at the hospital, the annoyance at not being able to find her, the flippant remarks he gave a worried Neela, the nausea that he tried to bury somewhere deep in the pit of his stomach when he finally acknowledged that something might be wrong. The way she looked when he found her: sitting on a bench in the ambulance bay, huddled like a child and shivering.

Neela and Susan were the treating physicians, working under the assumption that - whatever happened - Abby would be more comfortable with women. Unable to be of any actual help in the ER and unwilling to go home, he waited the evening away in the convenience store that replaced Doc Magoo's. With his back to the other customers, he did not see Jake until the med student was just a few feet behind him and his reflection became apparent in the store window.

_"Dr. Carter? Mind if I join you for a few minutes"_

_"I ... Umm, no. That's fine." He motions to the stool next to him, and Jake willingly seats himself._

_"I was just at the hospital for a study group, and I thought I'd stop here for some coffee before heading into the ER to see what's going on."_

_"You aren't on tonight, are you" _

"Nah, but Dr. Lockhart is pulling a double and I thought maybe I could give her a hand."

_Sorry, buddy. Dr. Lockhart won't be pulling that double after all._

_"I don't think that would be the best idea ... right now. They got slammed this afternoon and everything's just calming down ..."_

_"... and having the inexperienced, lowly med students would only complicate things. I get it; go home when she tells me to."_

_Jake shares a small smirk with an invisible third party. The idea that Abby might be that third party, that their relationship might even verge on more than just professional, makes him intensely aware of his subconscious objective to keep Jake away from her on every level._

_His beeper goes off just a few fortunate seconds later, calling him back to the ER. He does not give a second glance back at the med student sitting at the counter as his focus returns solely to Abby and whatever happened to her that day._

The days that followed were difficult ones. After returning to work, Abby was withdrawn, extremely nervous, and prone to volatile behavior in her dealings with both patients and staff. No one seemed to be able to reach her, try as they might. She kicked Neela out of her apartment, would barely speak to Susan or Sam unless it pertained to a patient, and rejected every one of Carter's advances. In fact, the only person to whom she would respond was Jake.

Carter kept watch over her from afar and, in turn, noticed the changes in her relationship with Jake. He wanted to placate himself with the thoughts that his mind was succumbing to paranoia, but he would not be reassured.

It took several weeks for him to finally gather the courage to ask her about it. He cornered her in drug lockup in a manner reminiscent of hers when she interrogated him about past relationships.

_"So ... you and the med student"_

_"Leave it, Carter. Just leave it. It's none of your business."_

_"You admit to it" He was expecting the confrontation. _

"It's none of your business."

_"I just want to help. It's against hospital policy; he's your med student." _

"And you dated a nineteen year old." But **that** he had not been expecting.

_"I should probably get back to work, I guess. But I'm off at seven if you want to grab coffee or something ..." He leaves the offer very open in the hopes that she might accept._

_"I'll think about it."_

_For the moment, it was just enough._

He supposes, in retrospect, that had been the turning point. Their coffee breaks were never long, but they became more frequent as the days progressed. Abby was clearly living one day at a time, surviving the only way she knew how. But Jake - Jake was enamored. He felt Jake's presence acutely in his dealings in the ER, felt as though he were being watched.

It was almost two weeks after his encounter with Abby in drug lockup when Jake finally approached Carter. The two happened to be waiting for the same set of incoming traumas while Abby was talking to the parents of an HIV positive teenager.

_"I wanted to thank you for not saying anything, Dr. Carter."_

_"Anything? About what"_

_"About me ... and Abby. I know you two have a ... history, even though she won't say anything." And once again, Carter notices just how taken Jake is with his female supervisor._

_"And you care about her? Because the last thing Abby needs right now is ..."_

_"Of course I do. But her heart ... she'll never care about me the same way."_

_He wants to tell him that he knows, he understands. That he found himself in the very same place. He waits a second too long, though. And the sirens from the incoming vehicles drown out any hopes of completing his thoughts._

_Two days later, Abby asks Carter to grab coffee with her on break. She does not have to tell him that they broke up. The look in her eyes does so instead._

For these reasons, it takes Carter by surprise when he enters the doctors' lounge before an evening shift about a week after his return to work. Abby stands leaning against the lockers with her back to the door. She is deep in conversation with a man that Carter recognizes immediately - even in the dim light of the lounge.

He feels a knot form in his stomach with the realization that the man in question is none other than Jake.

-

Worth the wait? I hope you think so. Let me know!


	3. Bend and Not Break

Title: Wires and Waves  
Author: Ella  
Rating: PG-13  
Spoilers: Post "Skin"; spoiler free should continue with extreme caution. Anything that's aired in the US is fair game. Tiny spoiler for 11.20 modified in this chapter, although you won't catch it if you don't already know what it is.  
Disclaimer: My mother never trusted me with sharp playthings, either.  
Summary: They're still dancing.

Notes: Whoa, all of a sudden a month has gone by! How did that happen? ... I have no idea, but I blame midterms. I struggled with this chapter, and it went through many more revisions than previous chapters before landing in my beta's inbox. I don't expect the fourth chapter to take as long, depending on my schedule.

And while I've got your attention, it seems that some of you may have the wrong idea about where this story is going. I'm not giving away any secrets, but I've got the entire story planned out. I'm expecting seven chapters plus a short epilogue. Just to clear up any further confusion, this story is about Carter and Abby. I'm not going to guarantee an outcome ... but while other characters may make appearances, the main story does not ultimately concern them.

Interpret that as you wish and read on ...

* * *

Chapter Three: "Bend and Not Break"

* * *

_I am fairly agile  
I can bend and not break  
Or I can break and take it with a smile  
And I am so resilient  
I recover quickly  
I'll convince you soon that I am fine _

* * *

Her earliest memories revolve around storms in one way or another: thunder and lightning, wind and rain, lamps violently disconnected from end tables as they crashed to the floor, temper tantrums and fits of rage and shrieks and cries that would last all through the night. Yet it was not the weather phenomena that would visit her nightmares or fill a dark silence with ghosts.

For she was Abby Lockhart and, at age nine, she was not afraid.

Some twenty-six years later, this is no longer the case. She wonders if maybe she'd have been better off had she known fear all those years ago.

This particular evening the rain fell heavily, an uncharacteristic storm for Chicago at that time of year. She curses the forecast for stranding her without means to deal with the impending challenge of darting to the El platform; her attentions are otherwise occupied when she hears a voice - a man's voice - call her name.

For the record, Abby has probably seen Jake a collective six or seven times outside of the hospital since his graduation the previous spring. Four of those times, she might add, could be credited to journal club. At County, they were bound to run into each other from time to time as he had matched in pediatrics and would somewhat frequently find himself volunteering to assist with any case that might draw him to the emergency room.

For though their breakup had been clean, both subconsciously decided it would be best to keep their distance for the time being. Abby did so to hide her embarrassment; being called on a relationship by John Carter had not been in her plans. _Not that he had any room to judge_, she reassured herself - but it stung nonetheless. And to make matters worse her conscience agreed with him. Her brain wracked with professional guilt, she finally found the strength to deal with the fallout of the abduction.

Jake, of course, decided to keep his distance because he found it almost as difficult to be near Abby and not **be** with her as it was to be with Abby while her mind was somewhere else entirely. Matching at County gave him comfort in the knowledge that he could watch her from afar, and watch he did. All year he watched - coffee breaks, difficult patients, friendships, relationships. He noticed Dr. Dubenko's continued fumbling interest in the resident, her careful footsteps around the feelings of Luka and Sam in the aftermath of their breakup, her close friendships with the other second year residents, her dealings with that new PICU attending ...

And so he watched. He watched and he watched and he waited.

Now March is turning quickly into April, nearly three months since her romantic arc with Dr. Tollison came to a close. And he's anxious and tired of waiting. Combined with the fact that he is no longer a med student – no longer _her_ med student - Jake cannot help but wonder to the illusion of a second chance.

"Abby ...?"

He's glad to catch her alone, to have the chance at a conversation uninterrupted. Some casual snooping told him that her shift would be over at seven, bringing him to the ambulance bay at 6:50 that evening - weak excuse in tow. She seems a little bit distracted, but she _is_ alone. It's almost better than he might have hoped where Abby is concerned.

If Abby is startled by the greeting, she does not show it.

"You get called down here on that little girl in two?"

"Hmm?"

"The little girl in exam two. I've been waiting on a consult for a couple of hours. I'm waiting for some test results, but I thought I'd go ahead and put the call into peds so that I might get to talk to someone before I sign out."

"Oh, no. I've got a shift in a little while, and I thought I'd stop by to see if you were here. I've been wanting ... to see you ... It's been awhile."

"We've both been busy," she says, flustered. She's not sure she wants the time between meetings to shorten any - especially now that he's back. She doesn't want to risk misunderstandings or misinterpretations.

They settle quickly for teasing conversation of a slightly fragile. But before he can even begin to broach his objectives, the shift change crowd casually begins to make their way in and out of the lounge. The stream of doctors and nurses ebbs and flows sporadically. In the commotion Jake's eyes shift their gaze to the lockers on Abby's left side, immediately focusing on the name directly behind her face.

Almost as though his acknowledgement of the nametag sends a telepathic signal to its owner, John Carter appears in the now-quiet lounge. And it's questionable as to which man is more taken aback by the presence of the other or, for that matter, who feels more threatened.

"Dr. Carter?"

Carter nods in acknowledgement, though it's obvious that the reintroduction is not necessary.

"I didn't mean to interrupt anything," he motioned toward the pair, noting the guilty look that crosses Jake's face.

"Oh no, I was just on my way out." She gives a self-deprecating laugh that could be attributed either to the storm raging outside or the potential storm brewing in the room.

Jake looms awkwardly in the corner as Carter continues.

"Actually, I was hoping to catch you. Before you go, if you've got a second ..." Once again his eyes scan the pair in front of him, this time locking with hers.

Before she has a chance to agree, an incoming trauma and several caffeine-seeking colleagues break the quiet scene unfolding in the lounge. Jake slips out unnoticed and almost forgotten. Discouraged as his business is left unfinished.

Abby slips out moments later, a haphazard "We'll talk later" mouthed across a busy ambulance bay.

She disappears to the El platform, and Carter wonders if she said anything at all.

* * *

While Abby's early memories revolve around storms, Carter remembers places, people, landmarks; his childhood divides into before, during, and after his brother's illness. He recalls both separating events with unforeseen clarity considering his age at the time of occurrence, though most of the details in between blur so that he remembers only portions - pieces of a jigsaw puzzle that hold no specific markers. Colorless, odorless interlocking fragments of a childhood spent in a different kind of darkness.

This particular stormy night, he keeps his composure until patient and family of exam two finally made their way to pediatrics. Now the room is vacant, save the tiny stuffed creature he cradles in his hand.

It happens, every so often. He stumbles across _the_ case - the one that hits the heart at a 45 degree angle. Two years ago, each case seemed that it might be so critical. At the time when everything needed to mean _something_, he was careless in both thought and action. He suffered, refused to heal as he heard words unspoken and unintended: figments of a desperate imagination.

Some things never change; this case is one of them.

_You never get used to it. The good news is you never get used to it. At least, I haven't. So you may have come up here to be alone - but you're not._

But he _is_ alone. Very much so. Everything and everyone he loved disintegrated beneath his touch, and he is alone at the end of the day. And that makes this case - this patient - all the more difficult.

_"Mr. and Mrs. Murphy? ... The results of Emma's blood work just came back ... I'm afraid I've got some bad news."_

_"How bad?" The little girl's father is speechless, and her mother's voice breaks as she speaks for the two of them._

_"The tests and physical examination point to Hodgkin's lymphoma." His own voice is unsteady, and he has to pause for a moment. "I know this is a hard thing to hear, but I've called a couple of specialists and we need to get Emma admitted as soon as possible ... I'm really very sorry."_

_"Then what?" Her mother asked. Her eyes were broken and lifeless. For a fraction of a second he thought he saw his own mother's pain written into each crease on her forehead._

It's only this time, this night, that he understands. The realization comes so quietly that he does not hear it, even an hour later as he fingers the child's toy with his right index finger in the empty room.

* * *

The rest of his shift passes uneventfully in the wake of his unacknowledged metamorphosis.

It's over just as the sun should be climbing the sky. Though the storm itself retreated, the vestiges of grey clouds that remain seem to have other plans.

No destination comes to mind as he starts the car, so he simply drives. He finds himself sitting in front of the Methodist church and, before his so-called better judgment gets a chance to protest, makes his way inside.

The clock glares at his ten-minute late arrival, though no one else in the basement room seems to mind - or even take notice. Experience has told him there are three types of people who attend AA meetings. First, there are those whose attendance is - to some extent - obligatory; their disinterested stares are backed by an otherwise occupied train of thought. There are about fifty other places they'd rather be - their jobs, for one, or painful dental procedures. Second, there are those who feel the need to be there, for whatever reason. They are so wrapped up in their own pain and suffering that they wouldn't hear the fire alarm if it started to blare in the background. Lastly, there are those whose attendance is no longer mandated, yet they feel some stabbing sense of obligation to continue to attend. They are the ones whose distractions neither focus on their own problems or on the fact that they'd rather have their teeth pulled. Nevertheless, they only catch small fragments of the words that echo in the room.

As he takes an empty seat in the back row, it strikes him that he doesn't quite fit in any of these groups. He's not sure quite what to make of that notion.

* * *

Three days and two AA meetings later, he does not know what's come over him. Why the sudden change? _Why now?_ He thought he had found all the answers over the course of the past year. He isn't so sure anymore.

It's then that it happens.

He's just finished sending an eight year old MVA to surgery when he hears laughter coming from the drug lock up. Her laughter. It's not loud, but he would know that sound anywhere.

He knows he shouldn't listen, but he cannot quite tear himself away.

"So, you never told me what you thought about next Saturday?"

"Oh, Jake. I don't ... I don't know."

"You don't think it's a good idea?" Silence for a moment, and he holds his breath for any indication of what might be happening. "Abby, we had so much fun the last time, and my family - they love you."

It's worse than he had expected. How could he never have known that she met Jake's family? The obvious answer would be that she'd never told him.

The idea that she had met the Scanlons sent a sinking feeling straight to his gut. Their relationship may have been more serious than he'd let himself believe.

Abby, he knows, is not his; she never was - not entirely. But there's a primitive instinct that he can't stand the thought of some other man winning her heart. This concept isn't foreign to him; he did, after all, spend well over a year pining after her. He satisfied himself with her mind and her heart and her friendship while she herself went home with Luka each night. Then, when he finally had a chance, he turned her down. His ego had been long-past wounded, and he wouldn't be the second choice. He's often regretted this, in the years that followed that fateful night by the river. Past dreams have offered vivid details of how things might have been different. It remains one of the only times where he recalls her being truly vulnerable in his presence, and she had been beautiful.

"Dr. Carter!"

Morris' voice brings him back to reality with a painful jolt as he realizes he never heard Abby's answer.

He glances casually in drug lock up as he follows Morris to triage, but no trace of the two residents remains.

* * *

The next few days pass slowly in John Carter's world. His renewed attendance at AA meetings is the only way of marking the time. He keeps with him the thought that one day she might make an appearance as well. The Methodist church, he remembers, was her preference for some unknown reason.

Several days have come and gone since he overheard her invitation from Jake, and he has not yet gathered the courage to approach her. Among other things, he feels the pressure of the date fast approaching.

He's sitting at a meeting on Friday evening and listening somewhat attentively to a middle aged man telling of his struggle against the bottle when he catches her eye across the room. She's sitting with a woman he doesn't recognize, though he feels that maybe he should.

His attention to the remainder of the meeting is almost nonexistent. He cannot quite think of her, but he cannot forget her presence either. His thoughts are a haze of memories, bitter cold mornings and coffee mugs and breezy summer evenings and a nondescript sound of chatter over dessert. It might not be her voice - or it might be. All order and accuracy displace each other and minutes tick away.

Only as it draws to an uneventful conclusion does Carter's focus return to earth. She waves at him across the room as she stands holding her coffee and, for a moment, his whole world stands still. Her grip on him is as firm as it ever was, though she remains endearingly unaware. And he gravitates toward her.

"Hey, stranger." She greets him amicably, causing him to wonder just how much caffeine must be in that coffee. It _is_ still early in the day. "I had no idea you were coming to Bill's again."

She seems both surprised and pleased, offering a small smile and kissing him on the cheek.

"Yeah, I've been coming a lot the past week or so. No reason in particular, it just ... felt like the right thing to do. I guess -"

"I know what you mean. I come once every couple of weeks just because I've got this voice that keeps nagging me to make an appearance."

She almost adds that the voice sometimes sounds remarkably like him. She's glad, moments later, that she does not.

"You know, I've got a shift in an hour. I was going to grab some _real_ coffee, if you're up to it?" _Like old times_.

He watches her intently as she answers, worried that his offer has offended her. She stops to check her watch but then beams up at him as she says, "I'd love to."

* * *

Forty minutes later, they find themselves tucked away in the back corner booth of an ordinary, uninteresting coffee shop. The location isn't important, other than the fact that it's about halfway between the hospital and the church. She's sure she's seen its name advertised somewhere, although she cannot remember when or where. It's a hole-in-the-wall kind of place, the one that you'd pass by a thousand times and not ever notice its existence no matter how much it might want you to. Second rate classical music fills the background, but neither Carter nor Abby is listening enough to notice even the genre of music playing.

"... Oh, I'd be willing to bet you haven't shared since _I_ was your sponsor!" she exclaims with such enthusiasm for the jest that her face flushes slightly.

_Yes, and look how well that turned out_, his eyebrows threaten right back at her. "You weren't sharing either, you know."

"But I've been attending meetings on a regular basis for almost three years! It's hardly necessary, Carter."

He wonders when she became the one lecturing him on AA again, when the tables turned and roles rotated once again in their relationship. He realizes that this happened long before he was willing to recognize it. He knows it happened sometime while he was in Africa that second time, and he once again is overcome with regret that he did not witness that change in her first hand. If only ...

"Carter?" The concern in her voice is evident as it breaks his thoughts. "You got quiet on me all of a sudden. What's on your mind?"

"Nothing, really." He wants to be honest with her, but time is once again getting away from him. His shift starts in less than twenty minutes. "There's just something I've been meaning to talk to you about." He stops briefly to ensure she's listening, "The Foundation is having this big benefit for the opening of the house, and if you're not doing anything next Saturday night, I was wondering if you could ... if you wanted ...?"

He trails off, not continuing the question any further as to gauge her reaction.

"Date stood you up again? It's not flu season anymore." She's mocking him, he notes. He enjoys her playful tone for what it's worth.

"There's no one else I'd rather take, you know." He thinks she might have smiled at this, but he does not want to hope too much. "It's formal, of course. But I can promise good food and great music."

"So, basically dinner and dancing?"

"Yes. But this time - I promise - no dinosaurs."

Now when she smiles, her whole face lights up. And he _knows_ it.

* * *

Again, sorry this took such a long time. I really appreciate all of the kind and encouraging words thus far :)


End file.
